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While you were asleep: Hawke swoops into WA, cyclone disappoints Darwin, fighter jets stopped by rain

Hawke

Approx Reading Time-11Monday. Get away from her, you bitch. What happened while you were asleep? Well, Bob Hawke returned to the fold, Darwin didn’t get its cyclone and two F-35’s were defeated by a drizzle.

 

 

 

1988 returns to WA politics, Bob Hawke rides into town to Men at Work.

A state famous for absolutely bupkis outside Monkey Mia has suddenly shot back into to prominence of late, as the rest of the country wonders: What is going on with Western Australia? While the mining boom might be over, the verdant non-existent hills of Perth have gold in them. Political gold. Yeehaw. Following One Nation’s suit, in garnering the preferences from the Coalition, and threatening to fine their candidates $250k for leaving, (and the Coalition’s grassroots campaign to butcher the chance that any caucasian might have in picking up on the dancefloor,) Labor have decided to bring the grand old man of quicksilver amber imbibement to endorse their candidate, Mark McGowan, in the three slices of fruitcake mental fare of WA politics.

Hawke, 88, eloquently spoke about change, claiming that:

The talk quickly, and gratingly, turned to how quick he can neck a bev, despite it being awkward, and passé as fuck. Yes, the man can out-skol you at 88, impressive, but the man has clearly something left to give beyond his extracurricular necking.

Although, it’s WA politics, so what do I know?

 

Darwinians dodge Cyclone Blanche, mass disappointment felt.

In the Top End, there’s a certain pride that the locals hold in being a victim of unreasonable weather patterns. Whatever you may have endured prior to your arrival in Darwin, be it your near death experience in the tumultuous waters of the Yangtze, or that two-month sabbatical you spent in a cottage in the earth’s core, is deemed irrelevant as it’s never been as brutal as you’re about to experience, mate, you just wait. So it goes with cyclone season, as the aforementioned set gleefully inform you of the last time they faced impending doom, advising the newbies of the two things that every emergency kit should contain: a sturdy bathtub, and a surplus of rum.

As evening ticked over to morning there was an almost festive promise of a windy intrusion named “Blanche”. After a season of pithy 20-30% chance of a vortex of wind that would kill us all if need be, finally it arrived. In the days previous, it was referenced in pub trivia and double-entendred headline alike:

People were excited. Finally, some adult destruction would be arriving to NT shores. Something to tell the kids. But, sadly, it was a downstairs tease, as the Blanche skipped over the Top End entirely, leaving locals aghast with no story to tell.

It was the cyclone that never was.

It will remain, the cyclone that never was.

 

Two of Australia’s high-tech jet fighters grounded over weather concerns. IS start rain dance protocol.

The F-35’s were kept on the deck (Topgun reference) due to the threats of Melbournian weather over the weekend, forcing the craft to endure Avalon airport for an extra night. A trial that nothing should endure. Wocka wocka. The grounding being due to the limitations of the aircraft is confusing, as the only reason Aussies would spend their tax monies to possess such high tech weaponry would be to nuke the face of whichever god when he displeases us at any given time. Guess not.

The two craft, the first of 72, cost a pissing $100 million each, are understandably treated like the “new” car purchased after a compo pay out. And while they are able to fly back in time while servicing the pilot’s genitals* it seems that the impulsive Victorian weather patterns can easily beat the rather impressive-looking penile extensions. Unconfirmed reports have revealed a massive shift of IS infrastructure from the temperate climes of Syria to the outer suburbs of Launceston in response.

#FakeNews.

*citation needed.

 

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